It was finally Christmas Eve, which everyone had been looking forward to.
Around evening, as soon as Hyunseung got home, Hyuna spoke up.
“Oppa, you bought a cake, right?”
Hyunseung curtly replied “Yeah,” and handed over the cake box he was carrying.
“Wow! It’s so pretty!”
Seeing how happy Hyuna was with the cake made him feel his effort had been worthwhile—standing outside in the freezing cold until his ears turned red to buy it.
“Dinner’s all set, so hurry over to the table!”
“Okay, just let me hang up my coat.”
“It’ll get cold! Come quick! I’m starving and I waited for you!”
“Geez, fine, I’m coming.”
With that brusque reply, Hyunseung headed to his room, quickly hung his coat, and—
“Where did I put it…”
He pulled out the Christmas gifts he’d hidden in his closet.
“Hope they’ll all like these.”
He stowed the shopping bag behind his back and casually walked to the dining table.
“Whoa, what’s with all this amazing food?”
“I used my talents.”
“You sure you didn’t just buy it ready-made?”
“What? Are you trying to die right now?”
“Looks like a great place you got it from—share the name, will you?”
“I made it!”
Joking around, Hyunseung discreetly placed the gift bag under the table by his feet. Just then, their father—who’d emerged from his room—looked worriedly at Hyunseung’s face and signed:
“—Son, you look like you’ve lost weight. You’re too busy to eat properly?”
Hyunseung shook his head in sign language as well:
“—The company cafeteria says they’ll give me a perfect-attendance award for not missing a single meal. I eat there every day, you know.”
Contrary to his father’s concern, Hyunseung was living quite well these days. He didn’t indulge in many luxuries—he’d experienced every kind of extravagance in his past life—so he was moderate in his spending. He was spending fulfilling days focused on his work and album preparations, looking after his family at the same time.
In fact, he’d been eating promptly at the well-stocked company cafeteria (sometimes queuing even before it opened so he could be the first to eat), so he’d actually gained a bit of weight.
From a parent’s point of view, children always seem underfed and pitiful, he mused.
He tried joking to reassure his dad, but his father remained uneasy.
Meanwhile:
“Oppa, let’s light some candles on the cake!”
“Why bother? It’s just candles…”
“Come on, it’s Christmas!”
“It’s not a birthday.”
“But it’s Jesus’ birthday!”
“You’re not even Christian!”
“I do pray occasionally when I need it!”
So they bickered about whether to light candles on the cake. Hyuna lowered her voice in a sulky tone:
“But it’s Christmas… We have to blow out some candles….”
Hyunseung paused a moment, then spoke quietly:
“Alright, let’s do candles.”
He was suddenly reminded of something.
“It’s Christmas, so let’s blow out some candles—!”
That remark triggered an old childhood memory.
When was it…?
He was seven, Hyuna was five. It was a bitterly cold winter. On Christmas morning, his father was heading out to work. Before leaving, he’d bundled up and said:
“—Hyunseung, I’ll bring home a cake tonight, so until I come back, you two behave at home, okay? Look after Hyuna.”
“—Sure! Then will we put candles on the cake?”
“—Right. I really don’t want to go to work on Christmas, but no one else can do it.”
“—So does that mean we can’t light candles?”
“—Haha, kid. Of course we can. I expect I can finish early today, so just watch the house with Hyuna.”
Sometimes Hyuna would whine to their father, and Hyunseung found it annoying, but not that day. For a while, Hyuna had been pestering them about wanting a cake on Christmas, and so it was happening.
“—Ok, take care.”
He remembered watching his father walk down the sloping road of their row-house complex. He stood there, staring long after his dad disappeared around the corner, trusting that if they waited until evening, their father would come home with a sweet cake. They’d stick in candles, sing carols, and share it joyously.
But for some reason:
Their dad didn’t come home at 7 PM, nor 8, nor 9, even after the clock struck midnight.
“Oppa, when’s Dad coming?”
“Soon.”
“He said he’d come today…”
“He will. Soon.”
“He said he’d bring a cake…”
As time dragged on, anxiety filled Hyuna’s face. She grew teary-eyed, eventually bursting into sobs.
“He promised me, pinky-swore and everything…”
After crying for a while, Hyuna spoke sadly.
“Oppa, I want to go meet Dad outside.”
“It’s cold. Let’s wait inside.”
“No, I wanna see him right away!”
She puffed her chubby cheeks, insisting. Hyunseung gave in.
“Ok, but wear something warm.”
He wrapped her in a coat and an old, fraying scarf. Oddly, he resented their father then.
“Dad! …Oh, not him…”
Each time they spotted an adult’s figure in the dark lane, Hyuna would wave. They waited over an hour outside, her tiny hands frozen. He held them.
“Let’s go back in now.”
“No!”
“If you keep this up, you’ll catch a cold.”
Just as he was dragging her home:
“Oppa…”
Hyuna asked softly:
“What if Dad abandoned us?”
Tears welled up again.
“He’s probably just working late.”
“No, it’s strange… maybe… he’s never coming home?”
Her small shoulders quivered as she cried.
“Dad wouldn’t abandon us,”
Hyunseung said firmly, but inside he was just as scared. He was only seven, after all. No matter how much he insisted, he was frightened that their father might truly never come back.
Eventually, the night turned into early dawn, and still no sign of their father.
“Oppa, my feet hurt…”
Worse, her feet were red and swollen.
“I told you we should’ve waited inside!”
“So Dad’s not coming…”
“He is coming! Just—stay put!”
But there was nothing he could do. He could only clasp her tiny foot in his small hand, blowing warm air over it:
“Hyuna…did you fall asleep?”
She dozed off from the pain, drifting in and out, the TV’s faint glow their only light.
“Hyuna…”
In truth, he was terrified:
“What if Dad never comes back?”
He dreaded the possibility that they’d been abandoned. He was so scared he could hardly breathe.
“Hyuna…”
Finally, close to dawn:
Creeeak—
He’d drifted off, half-crying. The door opened.
“—Hyunseung! Hyuna!”
It was Dad.
“—I’m sorry, I’m so sorry… I’m late… sorry…”
He had one arm in a cast, the other foot heavily bandaged, moving on crutches. Even seeing him so badly hurt, the first feeling Hyunseung had was relief—and shame, for thinking negatively.
“—Dad.”
He communicated in sign:
“—Thank goodness.”
“—What…?”
“—I thought you left us forever.”
He buried his face against Dad’s leg and wept for a long time, silently, so Dad wouldn’t know. Dad, though, could tell. He stroked Hyunseung’s head, speaking, not signing:
“Yeon… seung… ah…”
A hoarse voice:
“Don’t… cry. I… m sorry.”
Yes, Dad understood them completely. He knew what they liked and how they felt. He’d never abandon them. Adults can cry, too—Hyunseung realized that day. Dad cried, quietly, without making a sound.
“Mi… an… ae…”
No one taught Hyunseung, but he realized something:
When an adult cries, the child should pretend not to notice—even if they do.
Morning came. Christmas had passed, but they still lit the candles on a cake.
“Oppa! This is awesome! It’s my first time having cake!”
Holding hands, they went out and got one from a local bakery. Only later did Hyunseung recall how shabby Dad had looked. His slight frame, the frayed coat, his chapped hands and lips, tanned skin, and that worn-out wallet—he remembered it all vividly.
It wasn’t anyone’s fault. Just ruthless poverty. Poverty was the sin.
They had pushed through a long, dark tunnel.
Why had I forgotten all this in my previous life? Why did I ignore everything under the excuse of being busy…
A gentle tap on his shoulder:
“—Hyunseung-ah.”
As if reading his mind:
“—And Hyuna.”
Dad signed an apology:
“—I’m sorry about back then. When you were little. On Christmas.”
Hyuna smiled awkwardly:
“Dad, that was ages ago! You always say that every Christmas!”
Why had Dad always felt the need to apologize, repeating “I’m sorry” all the time? Poverty wasn’t a crime. They never deserved such punishment. Hyunseung thought to himself: From now on, I won’t ever let us feel “poor” again.
Hyunseung forced a casual smile and signed to Dad:
“—We were just kids. I heard you fell from a construction rig that day and were badly hurt, but the moment you woke up, you rushed home to us. That alone was amazing.”
He added,
“—I respect you for that.”
His father smiled.
“—It’s a good day. We should think happy thoughts.”
Then, as he placed candles on the cake, he continued:
“—Hyunseung, you create works of art that make people happy, right? I don’t know much about it, but if so, shouldn’t you keep yourself full of happy thoughts to make that kind of piece?”
Hyunseung sank into reflection:
“Works of art,” huh…
He’d never thought of his songs as “works of art,” only as a job, a business. But his father’s perspective reminded him of something bigger.
Dad turned again with a question:
“—I can’t hear it anyway, but… which do you consider your best ‘work’ so far?”
“—I guess…”
He had a hunch the best piece would be on this new album. Not in terms of sales or ranking, but it was the first time he’d poured his and his family’s story into the songs.
“—The album’s title track, I think.”
Yes. That track might be his greatest work.
“—I’d really like to hear that sometime,” Dad signed, smiling.
“—My greatest work,” he added, “—is you both.”
He placed the final candle and said:
“—Now, let’s blow them out.”
Hyuna cheered, quickly lighting each candle. She clasped her hands, eyes squeezed shut:
“Dad, close your eyes and make a wish too!”
Dad obliged, and Hyunseung, watching, also closed his eyes.
Please, let us keep living like this…
“I’ll blow them out first, okay?”
“Hey! We’re supposed to blow together!”
“Whoever blows first gets dibs!”
“That’s not fair!”
Hyuna took the lead, vigorously puffing out the flames.
“Fwoo! Fwoo!”
Not to be outdone, Hyunseung also puffed them out. Dad watched them fondly and laughed.
Hyunseung reached under the table for the shopping bag:
“—Dad, here’s a Christmas present.”
He’d chosen a wallet for his father. Why a wallet? Because he just felt he should give him one.
“—Seems expensive, Son.”
The new wallet was stuffed with fresh 50,000-won bills, and it overlapped in Hyunseung’s mind with the memory of Dad’s old wallet from his childhood.
“—Compared to what I earn, it’s nothing,” “—And it really suits you.”
Hyuna jumped in.
“Oppa! Where’s my present?”
“Here, something I picked up on the way.”
“Huh? Awesome, is this money?”
For Hyuna, he’d decided on cash—Arin had said it was best to just hand over money to a teenager.
“Better than some random gift, right?”
“Isn’t that kinda heartless?”
“But it’s practical.”
“Oh my gosh, it’s from Arin’s advice? Arin unnie rocks!”
“Just don’t blow it all at once. Use it wisely.”
“Yes, sir, Oppa! My wonderful brother! Shall I fetch you water…?”
She jokingly saluted him. Hyunseung waved her off, then said:
“Family— It’s Christmas.”
He paused, looking at his dad and sister:
“Merry Christmas.”
In all his two lives, this was shaping up to be the happiest Christmas ever.
May we stay this happy from now on.
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